Another Night in Pittsburgh
The whispering rain splats ungracefully onto the cracked pavement. A lightning strike goes unnoticed amongst the flickering neon signs. Those outside cling tightly to their overcoats and rain hats, unable to fully face the despairing night. A Pittsburgh university. A piano. A tragedy. I sit in my malaise, staring at the blank paper on my mahogany desk, eluded, baffled, and with an unrelated stubbed toe, when a woman knocks on my door. Genevieve, she called herself.
She was all legs, except for the part of her that was her torso. Also the part of her that was her arms. Actually none of her upper body was legs. I consider this revelation, taking another drag of my cigarette, smoke wafting, daring to escape this treacherous situation, only to dissipate away completely.
Genevieve, Genevieve, I can’t get her name out of my head or her out of my office. The roommate of the befallen, she tearlessly cries, with an unrelated dead husband that was heir to multimillion dollar company Anvils and Pianos Inc. The sad tale of Genevieve’s husband passing almost bore me into a heavy slumber. People die all the time of naturally occurring 23 stab wounds and one revolver bullet. In all my week as a private investigator, I’ve seen countless naturally occurring 23 stab wounds and one revolver bullet-related deaths. But roommate to the befallen? My investigation and my heart had gone cold, and Genevieve had arrived with a chesterfield coat and a cup of hot chocolate.
Genevieve took a slow and thoughtful sip of fine whisky from a crystal glass and voiced her suspicions: Perhaps it was an angry friend. Perhaps an angry acquaintance. Perhaps a hit from the Buggy Alumni Association. Just definitely not the befallen’s roommate, that would be ridiculous.
Perhaps it was one of those statues that come alive at night. Perhaps it was the spirit of a spiteful Andrew Carnegie or a vengeful Andrew Mellon. Regardless, it was absolutely not the befallen’s roommate. Even though one could say it was justified because the befallen kept leaving their plates out and also the befallen kept bragging about their high core@cmu grade and also the befallen was heir to Anvils and Pianos Inc’s main competitor Plows and Violins LLC.
“Or perhaps well I’ll just leave that to you, detective,” Genevieve uttered, lighting a cigarette and finishing it in one long inhale. The room filled with smoke, with haze, with mysteries unsolved and unsolved mysteries. She left as quickly as she entered: the normal speed it takes someone to open and close a door.
The rain pattered. I pondered. My paper continued to sit blank, taunting me, the untouched ink well menacing and captivating me. Who could have done this heinous crime? I might never know.